


hesitation before headshots

by SpectralSkyscraper



Series: judas and his betrayal [4]
Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: 80s/90s crime babies, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Death, M/M, Organized Crime, Pining, Posssssibly mutual pining, Trevor secretly being a softie, Violence, i love him I swear, trevor gets knocked tf out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-03
Updated: 2017-11-03
Packaged: 2019-01-29 03:37:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12622304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpectralSkyscraper/pseuds/SpectralSkyscraper
Summary: Trevor's hands still shake on the gun, but not for long.





	hesitation before headshots

**Author's Note:**

> hi im back sorry ive had writers block but im back with 80s crime kids! Trev is still kinda new to the shooty wooty bizz still in this one. im wicked tired pls be nice to me
> 
> -update- just caught all my typos sorry ^^
> 
> -double update- please leave comments requesting fic ideas for my gta crime bois i would rly appreciate it as my writers block is off the hizzle  
> also comments in general are nice ;)

Trevor likes to pretend his finger doesn't shake on the trigger before a kill.

 

It's something sacred. Something he won't even share with Michael. And he shares _everything_ with Michael.

 

Because Michael is stronger than Trevor. Michael's hands don't shake and his gaze doesn't waver and when he says he's going to kill someone, they're dead.

 

Trevor has a hard time with that. More of a hard time than he lets on. It's rare that he hesitates on a kill- he's gotten so good at hiding the empathy of it all.

 

Except for this time.

 

This time, Trevor's got his Smith and Wesson revolver trained on the security guard of a wealthy local drug cartel base. 

 

Trevor knows they don't usually fuck with drug runners. Trevor knows that this is probably a bad idea, that he won't be able to go through with the kill. Trevor knows that the guard who's slowly readying into a fighting stance also knows he probably can't go through with the kill.

 

Trevor also knows that Michael is somewhere else inside the building, robbing it for all it's worth, and is _counting_ on him to get rid of this guard.

 

And that's what steels his nerves. Makes his hand steady, his look harden. Michael _needs_ him to do this. And as Trevor cocks the gun and moves to pull the trigger, finality settling in his veins-

 

A second guard hurtles into his side, sending him- and his gun- skidding into the snow and ice of the dark alley behind the cartel's safehouse.

 

Trevor thinks belatedly, as his head stops spinning, that their information guy is really gonna fucking get it for this one. There was only supposed to be one guard. And that's when he notices the first hulking guard striding over to him.

 

That becomes a problem _fast_ and Trevor gets his feet underneath him in record time, skidding backwards and grasping for something, _anything_ to fight this asshole with. He finds nothing. As the guard nears he is thankful the guy didn't grab Trevor's gun on his way.

 

He braces for the hit. And it comes, once, twice, three times and Trevor loses count. Blood rushes to his head, out his nose- roars in his ears, and he fuzzily recognizes the second guard closing in with a switch blade. Trevor promptly loses all calm and doubles his efforts to fight, ramming his knee into the groin of the guard straddling him.

 

That earns him a swift kick in the ribs from switchblade-guard, (Trevor's already lost track of which is which) that sends him tumbling to the other brick wall of the alley. Trevor hisses and swings his arms back wildly, scrambling for purchase against the wall, brushing against cold metal and trash.

 

The guard with the knife approaches Trevor angrily, but Trevor is calm. The man waves his blade threateningly at him, grumbling about the blood he's going to draw and the carcass he plans to make of Trevor when Trevor swings a crowbar against the man's head with a metallic yet dull _twang._ He goes down with no fuss.

 

Before the other guard reacts, hell- before the guard with the knife is even fully on the ground- Trevor has his gun firmly slotted between his hands. They don't shake. He pulls the trigger and is glad he thought to buy a silencer. The man's body hits the ground and Trevor turns to the passed out guard roughly five feet away. Can't leave loose ends. A second shot rings quietly into the cold night.

 

Trevor tastes blood on his upper lip and behind his teeth. He predicts a broken rib or two, but his nose is definitely fucked. There are frozen tears at the corners of his eyes from the pain. He checks his watch and knows Michael should be done soon. He waits.

 

When Michael strides out the back door into Trevor's alley, he looks shocked. Like eyebrows up to his hairline shocked at the blood spattered across Trevor's form.

 

Trevor would be amused but he's too busy slumping into blessed unconsciousness at Michael's feet.

 

When Trevor comes to it's in their getaway car with duffels full of cash in the backseat and the trusty crowbar by his feet- Mikey probably didn't want to leave any evidence. His vision is blurry as his eyes drift to Michael in the driver's seat and _basks._

 

Streetlights glisten across the blue of Mikey's eyes and the pale cream of his skin. And then Michael's endearingly worried gaze shifts towards Trevor and he wonders if Michael too sees the world in his eyes. Trevor wonders even harder when Michael drifts a hand through his blood-matted hair ever so softly.

 

Trevor opens his mouth to ask, but his mouth sticks with blood and his ribs and lungs are sore and more tears prick at his eyes.

 

"Shut up, T." Michael says but his voice doesn't mean it and his eyes hold kindness.

 

Trevor shuts up.

 

But his mind _races._


End file.
